From her fortress in Bhitauli, Hazrat Mahal coordinates the attacks on the British. The fighters who had been forced to flee Lucknow and its surroundings have all united under the royal banner, so much so that her forces, those of her allies and Maulvi Ahmadullah Shah’s formidable troops now represent almost a hundred thousand men. In dispersed groups, they hold all the territory of Awadh, neighbouring Rohilkhand—between the Ganges and the foothills of the Himalayas—and a part of the province of Bihar in the east.
The new strategy is not to confront the enemy in pitched battles, but to harass them on all sides, in order to prevent them from establishing their authority and to bring their administration to a grinding halt.
In this respect, the regent follows the advice Jai Lal gave her before they separated:
“Never try to fight regular British troops head on. They are superior to us in terms of weapons and discipline, but watch all their movements, keep control of the river ports, intercept their communications, their supplies and their mail, launch incessant lightning strikes on their camps. Never leave them a moment’s respite.”
Every evening, when she finds herself alone in her room, Hazrat Mahal opens the medallion her lover had given her on their last evening. She studies the handsome face with its strong features, she delicately traces the contours of the arched eyebrows and the full lips with her finger; her whole being yearns for him. She senses . . . she knows he is alive!
* * *
For six months, the insurgency keeps the British involved in unabated combat.
In a letter written in the spring of 1858, reporting the state of operations to the governor general, Sir Colin Campbell admits the difficulty in confronting the insurgents.
“Awadh is in a state of active rebellion. Every time our columns go into action, they literally march over the bodies of rebels, but as soon as they have passed, the resistance regroups. They cut off our communications and supplies, and recapture the places we have liberated . . . The enemy is as daunting after having being defeated as it was before.”*
Echoing this point of view, one of the army pastors, Reverend Alexander Duff, writes in his journal:
“It is not a mere military revolt; it is a revolution that has been brewing for a long time and has driven Hindus and Muslims to unite. Beyond the sepoys, it is the revolt of vast multitudes against British domination. When our small, courageous armies push through these myriads, instead of leaving the deep mark of the plough, their passage is more like the wake of a vessel in a stormy sea that is covered over immediately.”*
And it is not only in Awadh. The rebellion rages in all the neighbouring provinces. In Bihar, it is led by Kunwar Singh, an eighty-year-old taluqdar. The man, nicknamed “the old tiger” for his strength and cunning, holds off the British forces for weeks. His decisive victory at Azamgarh galvanises the Indian fighters. Despite the loss of an arm and a pierced thigh, pursued by two enemy regiments, he leads a thousand men across the Ganges to reconquer his fiefdom in Jagdishpur. Eventually, he dies of a haemorrhage. However, Kunwar Singh has become a legend throughout northern India: it is said when he was wounded, he cut off his arm and threw it into the Ganges, offering it as a sacrifice for the final victory.
Most of the time, the rebel leaders fight independently. The begum’s troops are supported by the Rajah of Mahmudabad’s men in the northeast; Kunwar Singh’s relative Rana100 Beni Madho ’s twenty-five thousand men in the south; the maulvi’s formidable fighters in the northwest; and everywhere, numerous taluqdars and rajahs who keep the rebellion alive.
This dispersal of forces is the most efficient tactic against an enemy scattered over such an immense territory. On the other hand, as soon as they plan a large-scale operation, the insurgents work together.
It is at the begum’s headquarters, the seat of royal power, that the strategy is formulated and then communicated to the different leaders by the intermediary of relay messengers, stationed every six miles.
As they have no access to the telegraph lines—which are under British control when they are not sabotaged—the Indians have revived the ancient harkara system: a message written with a pencil dipped in milk to make it invisible is slipped into a piece of quill sealed at each end. Hidden in the first messenger’s mouth, it is passed on to the next, so that within a day, the message can travel almost a hundred miles.
Thus, in the utmost secrecy, they hatch a plan to recapture Lucknow. It is not enough to control the countryside. They must reconquer the capital, the actual and symbolic seat of power, at all costs and reinstate their sovereign there.
To succeed, however, it is essential to work as a united front and first punish the taluqdars who have rejoined the British, in order to dissuade others, tempted to follow their example. Lucknow’s new chief commissioner, Robert Montgomery—more skilful than the General Governor Lord Canning—has in fact proclaimed that those who surrender would be pardoned, and their property would be returned to them.
Fearing betrayal, Hazrat Mahal decides to attack the offenders without further delay.
In May, she launches her first punitive expedition against Rajah Man Singh, who has long played a double game, and who, with great treachery, abandoned Lucknow just when General Campbell attacked.
Riding at the head of ten regiments and followed by the loyal taluqdars’ forces, Hazrat Mahal arrives at the outskirts of Shahganj, where the rajah had taken refuge. She immediately lays siege to the fortress by positioning the troops so that all accesses are barred, thus preventing the garrison from receiving any supplies or ammunition.
Trapped, Man Singh sends a desperate message to his allies:
“She has ordered all the zamindars, the taluqdars and the mutineers to join together to attack me. They are about thirty thousand. Small or big, they take pride in being the begum’s allies. Even those who were close to me before have now turned against me.”*
His call for help is ignored; the British are too busy fighting off the insurgents, who are harassing them on all sides.
This is exactly what the Queen Mother intended to prove: the British are incapable of protecting their allies. It would be madness to join them! Proclaiming the confiscation of Man Singh’s state, she announces it will be shared between the taluqdars who are fighting him; then, after encouraging the troops, she returns to Bhitauli to prepare the forthcoming campaigns.
Barricaded inside his fort with his men, Man Singh continues to resist.
When British help finally arrives a month and a half later, the rebels, faithful to their strategy, retreat, only to take the war to other traitors designated by the begum, who, deaf to both promises and protests, remains unyielding.
While directing the military campaigns, Hazrat Mahal also continues to govern: order must be maintained, justice meted out and taxes collected. The tax collectors, formerly employed by the British, no longer dare venture into the villages, but the civil servants sent by the Queen Mother are well received by the peasants, outraged by the occupier’s crimes.
The dynasty’s prestige and her personal influence are such that even driven out of the centre of power, Hazrat Mahal still commands respect and obedience.
* * *
The 10th of May, 1858, is an important date for the insurgents. It is the anniversary of the beginning of the uprising, when the Meerut garrison’s sepoys revolted and marched on Delhi to free the city.
In Bhitauli, the Queen Mother wants to celebrate the event. In the absence of khilats, the young king distributes embroidered cashmere shawls to the bravest. One will be sent to Prince Firoz Shah for his battles in central India. By means of these rewards, the Queen Mother continues, at least symbolically, to affirm her son’s power.
Since their flight from Lucknow, Birjis Qadar has become increasingly withdrawn. He dislikes his life in exile, with no friends of his own age, surrounded by adults who only speak of war. He used to be such a joyful child, but now Hazrat Mahal never hears him laugh anymore. When she tries to draw him out, she only receives a polite reply: “I am fine, thank you, Amma Huzoor.” She has the distressing feeling her son has distanced himself from her, and that, just like the others, he sees her as the queen, not as his mother. She is fully aware it is her own fault. In order to regain his trust, she should listen to him more, discuss his concerns with him, advise him; in short, give him everything a son expects of a mother. Where would she find the time though? Her first duty is to the liberation struggle. And, after all, it is for him too that she is fighting!
Thus, she has entrusted the boy to Mumtaz, confident that her loving and attentive friend would look after him just as well as she would herself.
Thirsting for affection, the adolescent soon grows attached to the young woman. She spends entire days with him, comforting him, reassuring him with her tenderness, so much so that he begins to call her “Amma Mumtaz”101.
The first time Hazrat Mahal heard these words, she felt a pang in her heart: “Amma Mumtaz,” while he only calls her “Amma Huzoor,”102 as Court usage prescribes . . . But then, is it not what she wanted? That he should find in Mumtaz the availability she cannot give him herself.
Cannot give him . . . ? Really?
For your lover you found the time, but what of your child? murmurs a small voice within her.
While the soldiers parade before her, Hazrat Mahal remembers herself as she was a few months earlier with Birjis Qadar in the throne room of Chaulakhi Palace; beside them, Jai Lal was introducing the most deserving sepoys.
At this memory, her whole body tenses; she is so worried about him that she finds it difficult to think about anything else. A few days earlier in fact, a messenger had arrived announcing the rajah had been taken prisoner on March 22nd, the last day of the battle of Lucknow, and that his trial had begun.
The British insisted on doing everything according to the rules, at least in appearance, for when it came to proof, they made other prisoners testify—the rajah’s former servants or companions, who did not hesitate to accuse Jai Lal of every imaginable crime, in anticipation of a pardon. They even accused him of the murder of captured women and children, which he had resolutely opposed, and which had been carried out in his absence!
How can she save him? Hazrat Mahal had spent hours discussing the various options with the Rajah of Mahmudabad. They had arrived at the conclusion then they had to find an accomplice inside the place who would help him escape, just when they would be attacking Lucknow with all their troops.
The campaign was initially planned for the second week of June but, on the begum’s insistence, as she argued that each passing day brought the rajah closer to death, they do their utmost to advance the date.
Now that she knows he is alive, as soon as she is alone, Hazrat Mahal tries to enter into communication with the man she loves. An ancient skill, mastered by sages, asserts that time and space is but an illusion and can be transcended by a focussed mind. Gathering all her energy, she concentrates, trying to transmit hope and strength to her lover, evoking the happy moments spent together, the long conversations during which they shared stories of their childhoods and their plans for a country that would soon be free.
By observing Jai Lal day after day, Hazrat Mahal had understood the value of an individual’s role. If gifted with a clear mind and unflinching determination, a man or a woman can change the course of history, just by giving the lost and discouraged masses a focus. However, she had also understood another essential fact: the population must recognise in this individual something they themselves have been searching for confusedly. For a true leader is not someone who gives orders, it is someone who identifies a deep desire, knows how to mould it, make it real, and for that he must be very close to the people.
This is true for Jai Lal, as it is for her. Both of them come from simple backgrounds, unlike the Court aristocrats and all the elite, who are so far removed from reality that they are incapable of understanding the manner in which common mortals react.
Jai Lal, my love . . .
She will do everything possible to save him.
* * *
For a while now, General Hugh Rose has been reconquering central India. This ex-consul general, formerly stationed in Beirut, at first viewed with scepticism, has turned out to be a charismatic leader. Always at the forefront, he has rapidly won his soldiers’ support.
In March 1858, while Lucknow was falling, Sir Hugh Rose had begun the siege of Jhansi.
The impressive fortress, built on a rocky peak and surrounded by high fortifications, was defended by ten thousand men led by Lakshmi Bai, the Rani of Jhansi, whom everyone described as “a marvel of beauty and courage.”
After a few days, Rose had launched the attack and set fire to the fortress. Trapped, the rani, disguised in men’s clothing, had managed to escape with some of her troops, while the British army moved in to occupy the now defenceless city.
Although the major cities of Delhi, Lucknow, Kanpur, and, lastly, Jhansi, have been recaptured, fighting continues everywhere else under Begum Hazrat Mahal’s impetus. British reports described her as the “soul of the revolt.”
The rebels are particularly active in the north and in central India. Nonetheless, many of the taluqdars hesitate, waiting to see which is the winning side, as it is said that London is soon to send further reinforcements.
Second-guessing their calculations, the begum has it proclaimed that the soldiers and the civilians will show no mercy towards those who choose the occupier’s side.
“How can you still be naive enough to believe the promises the British make you?” she asks sarcastically. “Rest assured, they will take revenge!”
She has changed so much since she fled Lucknow. She has hardened into a war leader ready to use any means at her disposal to win, including blackmail. Henceforth, she is no longer fighting only to restore the dynasty, but for herself and her son’s life.
* * *
In Lucknow, the Chief Commissioner, Sir Robert Montgomery, has assembled his main collaborators, some of whom, like Martin Gubbins, the financial commissioner, have extensive experience in the region.
“This cannot go on any longer. We have taken the major towns, even if in a few of them deliberate fires still break out sporadically, but we are getting nowhere in the rest of the country. Our armies are powerless against these thousands of men who fight fearless of death.”
“They are all the more courageous because they look forward to a future in the afterlife, which will bring them all the happiness they were denied during their miserable existence,” comments an officer.
“Nonetheless, have you noticed how the prisoners who so proudly brave the gallows or the execution squad, literally collapse when we attach them to the mouth of a cannon?” asks a colonel who has been posted in India for about ten years now.
“You must admit it is an abominable sight. Seeing these young men pulverised into a thousand bloodstained scraps of flesh . . . ”
“We are employing this method increasingly frequently, not out of cruelty or a desire for revenge, but because it has proven to be the most efficient method,” clarifies the colonel.
“How so? A dead man is a dead man!”
“Not in this country! Without a funeral or cremation rites, there is no future life possible. For both the Hindus and the Muslims, this is a thousand times worse than death itself. It is so important to them that some prisoners agree to talk if we will grant them the mercy of shooting them!”
This declaration is received with laughter, soon arrested by the chief commissioner’s frown.
“Show some decency, gentlemen!”
And, turning to Gubbins:
“You have received a message from Rajah Man Singh, it seems?”
“Yes sir. As you know, before the mutiny the rajah was a friend. It is true he has made mistakes, but since then he has been doing all he can in an attempt to redeem himself. He sent me a message saying we were going about things in the wrong manner, and if none of the taluqdars had responded to our advances, it was not because they do not want to. Given the population’s mood and the begum’s threats, it is quite impossible for them to meet us or to swear loyalty to us publicly. They have asked us to find a way, either through a discreet intermediary or a signal agreed upon in advance, to confirm that in the event of their rallying to our side, we will grant them a pardon and make sure to leave them all their properties. Man Singh assures me that if this were the case, we would see most of them joining us.”
“Just words! We know them, these artful devils! They are playing a double game, waiting to see which way the wind blows,” protests an officer.
“No doubt,” admits Sir Robert, “but the situation is likely to turn in our favour quite soon. I have good news for you: we have obtained the support of Maharajah Jung Bahadur, Nepal’s prime minister and de facto sovereign since he deposed the king. He is placing his thousands of Gurkhas at our disposal to reinforce our troops. In return, we have promised him the territories in northern Awadh that adjoin his country . . . which we will be able to reconquer with his help.”
“Bravo! Between his Gurkhas and our Sikhs, it will be a competition as to who is the fiercest of the lot. The rebels fear them like the plague; their support will demoralise them completely.”
Nothing remains secret for long in India. The Queen Mother’s spies soon hear of the negotiations between Jung Bahadur and the British, and they rapidly apprise her of the situation.
At his mother’s instigation, Birjis Qadar sends a message to the maharajah. He does not refer to their dubious solidarity but explains the situation in the field, which is, for now, clearly in the Indians’ favour.
“How could these British,” he writes, “who cannot secure control anywhere, possibly allocate you any land? We are the dominant force in the country, and in exchange for your allegiance, we offer you territories twice as vast as those promised you, of which they currently do not possess even an acre!”
The letter was entrusted to a messenger. Was it intercepted? The fact remains, Birjis Qadar is never to receive a reply.
Nevertheless, at the end of this month of May, at the time when, preceding the monsoon, the unbearable heat crushes the Europeans, the begum and her allies control the whole of Awadh up to fifteen miles from the capital, Lucknow.